Sherlock Holmes flopped down on his couch in his flat at 221 B. Baker Street. His friend Dr. John Watson watched from the open door to the flat.
"You're just going to lay there. You almost get killed and all you're going to do is lay on the couch." Dr. Watson came all the way into the room and sat exasperated in his usual chair across from Sherlock's couch.
"I wasn't shocked, I wasn't taken off guard, there is no reason for me not to continue living life as I always do."
"Oh, I know. I don't know why after all this time I still am surprised at you're utter lack of normal behaviour."
Sherlock sat up at this and looked at John, studying him.
" 'Normal behaviour'? Exactly what were you expecting me to do?"
John shrugged and thought for a-half-a-second on how he would have reacted to a man almost knifing him in the chest after three minutes of hand-to-hand combat.
"I would have-"
"You would have?" Sherlock interrupted him. John glared at him.
"Yes, 'I would have'. Why do you have to keep interrupt-"
"You assume that you and I would have similar reactions, then." Sherlock interjected standing up and walking to the fireplace. John just shook his head in a slightly dejected manner.
"Yeah, I thought so."
"Why?"
John shrugged again, uncomfortable under that piercing gaze.
"I don't know. We're both people, aren't we? I just expected something more along the lines of being shaken or something. Of course I should have known better since you're you."
"Yes, you should have. Honestly, it's like you've learnt nothing at all." Sherlock returned to his couch and lay back again, hand over his forehead. There was silence for a few minutes. Then John realized something.
"Why are you still wearing your coat?" He asked. Sherlock took his hand off his forehead and sighed.
"What?" He moved his head lazily to look at John.
"You always take your coat off when you enter the flat and throw it on my chair; but you're still wearing it." John slightly emphasized the part about his chair, for it was always something that annoyed him.
Sherlock looked down at his chest. He was indeed still wearing his long, black overcoat. He sat up again and fingered the fabric.
"I didn't realize..." He got up, took the coat off, and stared at it for a while. John looked from the coat to Sherlock the whole time.
"Uh, something wrong?" John finally asked, an eyebrow raised. Sherlock was drawn out of his stupor and looked at John.
"I'm going out." He said shortly, and walked out the still open door to the hall and vanished down the steps. John sat back in his chair and wondered. He heard a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room.
"Hello, Dr. Watson. I came up to see if there were anything wrong."
Watson looked at her, confused. "Why should anything be wrong?"
"Well, you see, I just saw Mr. Holmes walk out without his overcoat. And what with it being so cold out..."
Watson got up and went to the place where Sherlock had been standing moments before, and there on the floor was his overcoat. Watson picked it up and smiled.
"No, Mrs. Hudson everything's fine. He just - forgot, we all do sometimes."